I know, I know. I fell off the grid for over a MONTH with no explanation. Forgive me, but I haven’t quite perfected the art of blogging while juggling children, moving cross-country, and an array of other “issues” that demand my attention lately. One day I will likely share what the last month has entailed, but I’ll leave that for a more appropriate time.
Nothing like a terribly vague post to end a long hiatus, amiright?
Let’s step back to nearly a MONTH ago when the four of us went to my in-laws’ farmhouse in Indiana. When my fashionable, Chinese friend and her husband spent their honeymoon with us. Before I had THREE children in my house asking 3 million questions an hour and eating 3 million pounds of peanut butter. I would like to finally tell you the rest of that story before I forget all of it and that space in my brain is replaced with VeggieTales lyrics.
“If it doesn’t have a tail, it’s not a monkey.
Even if it has a monkey-kind-of shape.
If it doesn’t have a tail, it’s not a monkey. If it doesn’t have a tail, it’s not a monkey. It’s an ape!”
Dear Chinese Government,
In a blog post last week, I said this:
“Believe it or not, even this silly, little blog is banned in China. Which makes sense because access to mommy blogs is pretty high on the list of ways to completely corrupt a nation.”
And then I got a comment on that post from my friend in China that said this:
A few weeks ago, I got an email from a dear friend and former college roommate of mine, Genii. We lived together from 2003-2004 while we studied abroad at the University of Leeds in the UK. Despite our incredibly different backgrounds (she is Chinese), beliefs, and a minor language barrier, we became fast friends.
Those who know me best know that I love surprises — both giving and receiving. Sadly, I am tragically flawed in the secret-keeping arena. If I remember to keep the surprise a secret (a BIG if), then I become too impatient to keep it. This is why Brian almost always receives his Christmas/birthday/anniversary gifts within 25 minutes of when I purchase them.
I poured through my photos yesterday (Thursday) in an attempt to come up with the perfect TBT photo. Dad, since I know you’ll ask, TBT (Throwback Thursday) is when people post old photos of themselves on social media or blogs. Not old as in, “Check out my crow’s feet in this photo,” but old like, “Hey, check out my ALF t-shirt.”
I have plenty of pictures of both, by the way.
The McRib sandwich at McDonald’s!
I’m just kidding. I’ve never eaten a McRib in my life. But if you’re a fan, I did find this handy dandy website that records McRib “sightings” all across our great nation.
You can thank me in 15 years when all 70 McRib ingredients have processed out of your colon.
This weekend we hosted another round of family here at the Morgan Hostel. I downgraded us from a hotel or motel to a hostel since our visitors have to share a bathroom with two toddlers. And one of them (WHO IS FINALLY POTTY TRAINED, PRAISE THE LORD) doesn’t have very good aim. Also, our guests are forced to eat my questionable cooking . . . which just adds to whole “I may die if I stay here much longer” feeling.
[I think she says stuff like this to frighten away future visitors.]
In an effort to evade the freezing rain in Atlanta, my parents came to town on Monday evening—two days before the day we all planned for them to arrive. Two days before the day the house would have been clean. Two days before the day the furniture would have been dusted. Two days before the day I would have had meals planned, prepared and frozen.
I know. Even I didn’t believe that last one.